The School For Drawings
by Anna3422
Summary: So I've decided to join in the fun of Disney crossovers! All of the characters are living in an obscure boarding school that they know nothing about. Suggestions are welcome!
1. Chapter 1

So I decided to join in the fun of writing Disney crossovers. (I do not own anthing! Do not sue!)

This will be an ongoing collection of scenes set in the same AU. They're in a different style from how I usually write, but I hope it works.

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><p><strong>The School For Drawings<strong>

The dining hall fills up faster than usual this morning. I am lucky to have been one of the first to arrive, but even in the stillness of early morning, this place is never quite empty. The long tables take up space, while students mill about waiting to greet each other. Jasmine is sitting at the corner of a table near where Snow White is giggling at a joke of Aurora's, and so, strangely, is Megara. I'm not so certain what we're all doing here, since it is a Saturday and there are no activities. Some of the newer "students" seem at a loss for what to do. The dining hall belongs to what can most closely be defined as a residential school. There are several hundred of us who have lived here, all for varying amounts of time. We know little about it. We know that the school is meant to offer us protection of some kind. We know that it was founded for people who happened to be cartoons.

I join Jasmine at the table and sit in relative silence. She is finishing her breakfast. I am finishing a novel. It is the best time of day to read in the dining hall, when only a few of the girls are awake. Peaceful. Slowly, the sky lightens and other students fill the tables. Gradually, we wake up and begin conversing. Jasmine acknowledges the others, asks me what I'm reading, and joins in the conversation with Snow White and Aurora. For some reason, she's warmed up to them lately, as though she had never met them before, although they've both been at the school for as long as I can remember. Aurora seems bemused by Jasmine and I somehow think that Snow White is bridging a gap between them. Only Megara hangs back from the conversation. She's a confusing case sometimes. A little older and all hard edges. I smile at her across the table and she answers with a half-ironic look that I've come to recognize as her own way of smiling back.

The morning picks up pace when Aladdin arrives, smuggling extra crackers and breakfast food. The fact that it is all free seems lost on him. He greets us, on his way to the table:

"Well look who it is? Good morning Belle, Snow White, Aurora. Hey Meg." He claps her paternally on the shoulder, although she has more than an inch over him in height. Aladdin is friends with everyone here and brings a certain unity to the breakfast table. Then he turns to Jasmine, who acquires a sly grin. They embrace passionately. Some of the girls stare. In their defense, it's difficult not to. And then a shrill laugh fills the room. We all look up to see Peter Pan rolling in the air above us, crowing with glee. _How can we not have noticed him? _He is disproportionately amused. Jasmine rolls her eyes and Snow blushes.

"It isn't that funny," says Jasmine. She and Aladdin are smiling, without the least concern for Peter. Of course, just watching him is funny, but the noise starts a frenzy of activity which signals the end of our peaceful time.

When Aladdin leaves to clear his plate, Aurora asks, "Does your father know about him?"

Instantly, the smile is gone. The two of them exchange a dark look. Jasmine scowls and walks away. There are various barking, whining, & chattering noises spread around the hall and our little group scatters to join in the events of the coming day.

On my way outside, I see birds offering help with breakfast dishes. There are some very keen animals in the kitchen. Duchess nurses her kittens in a corner and Tinkerbell moves to catch up with her young companion. Captain Pheobus has gone to sit with the gypsy Esmeralda. He is too old for her, but I don't say anything. In all honesty, I avoided the captain for the first part of his stay and know little about him. But he is talking intimitely with Esmeralda, and he seems to genuinely like her. Their heads brush together as they speak:

"Where do you come from?"

"I don't know. My parents lost me when I was small. I grew up in France. I've lived in Turkey, Romania, Portugal, and Spain."

Duchess finishes nursing and herds her litter to a box beside the door. The kittens are quick to get into trouble and she draws them back like a young governess would with a student. I check that there is milk in her dish and add a little more. At the school, everyone looks out for those who need it.

And in the hallway, there are still more.

"Good morning," I say - and sometimes, "Bonjour" in my native language, and in many other languages - to those of us who happen to be cartoons.

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><p>So that's the premise. I generally don't like the present tense, but, oh well. Please review! I'll update if there's interest.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

And I wrote more . . . Here's the next segment, for the one person who enjoys this randomness.

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><p>The snow blankets a long strip of ground between buildings. Trees line the dormitory walls and the path to the common areas.<p>

"I wonder whether Jasmine is right?" I say. The Beast looks quizzical. "She finds being a princess tiring. I wonder whether it's as bad as she says?"

The Beast paws the ground heavily while he walks. "Maybe it depends on the princess," he offers.

"I think it does. But then, maybe it's because of where she came from." I pause. "You know, she was never allowed to befriend common people. She lived in the palace alone." _Many of us did . . . _

"That does matter."

I think about all of us, living here. All of the different places that we've come from.

"What about Ariel?"

The Beast is confused. "Ariel? She's French isn't she?"

I shake my head. "No. She's not that. Something's different about her, but I can't place it. It's as if she weren't raised human at all. Like Mowgli, or Tarzan." I see that I'm losing him and change my approach. "Not exactly like them." _Although there are strange similarities at times. _"I just feel like I should know this, and I don't."

"Maybe she doesn't come from anywhere."

She does though. I can tell that she does. And I should know this.

We pass around a corner and a beam of sunlight shoots out at us. The yard is warm and sharply outlined. After a few more paces, I catch sight of Esmeralda again, standing near the front door. She is alone. Just standing. Drinking in the sunlight.

_"Where do you come from?" _

_"I don't know."_

"Another puzzle," I mutter quietly.

"What?"

"The gypsy girl. I overheard her talking-" But I stop, because it was never my business to overhear. "Do you know anything about Captain Pheobus?"

He shakes his head. "Who?"

"I think she likes him." No harm in saying so. "You might have seen him, he wears armour all the time. He's tall, handsome, and has sort-of yellow hair. But she's so kind to Quasimodo. They seem more suited to one another, in a way."

"Do you think so?"

I glance sideways, as I realize how very loaded this question is. He is looking up at me intently, which makes me turn and examine the icicles on the trees.

"I don't know," I say slowly. "Perhaps I'm not old enough to know." I realize we've crossed over our own footprints.

"You're older than Ariel and she seems to know well enough."

_Touché._

He is still watching me though, so I glance sideways and smile. Laugh softly. There is something significant about the moment. Almost . . . romantic. And now I realize what it is that makes me uncomfortable. Because how can you feel romantically towards someone who barks when they greet you? Who is covered in fur and who walks on four legs, instead of two? I quickly search for something else to focus on_. _Something which doesn't make my head spin.

"Oh, look," I say happily. "The leaves are budding." I draw the Beast's attention to the frail tree branches, which are slowly turning green. He raises his head, smiles, and I feel strangely proud of myself, although anyone can notice the signs of spring.

"It's getting warmer out."

And it is. It's the beginning of spring and a Saturday, which means a general reviving of spirits throughout the school.

"We should see if there's anything happening inside," I suggest, picking up my pace slightly. "It's probably noon by now."

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><p>It's very short. I still don't own anything.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: See chapter 1

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><p>The dining hall, by this time, is a menagerie. Literally speaking. I step over water and food dishes which are lining the walls on each side. The tables are filled with students and there is a general chaos going to and from the kitchens. Everywhere are plates, chairs, shoes, and Dalmatians. I have to fight, in order to get a seat a the back of the hall.<p>

A commotion starts at the other end of the table, which is long and stretches out like a pathway. Peter Pan is turning somersaults. And behind him are Mowgli, Alice, Arthur, and some Rabbits who I don't recognize. Just running up and down the table, chanting to each other. There's no harm in it, really, but the others all follow Pan, who's laughing and yelling at the top of his lungs. A few of the others complain about things being knocked over and move their plates. Some of us cheer. I see Chip across from me and quickly snatch him out of the way. Mrs. Potts would never forgive me if he was stepped on and there are so many feet. Still, I feel a moment of sadness as I pull him away. Why shouldn't he be able to stomp and play with the other children? Why should Chip, who has the same fire as any of them, wait out his childhood on a shelf, never knowing what it's like just to run around. I set him on my lap, while the stampede passes.

"Oh, no you don't!"

Suddenly there is a scandal, and I see Peter swoop over the tables with Jane's dinner roll in his hand. Something he apparently stole off her plate. To her credit, she chases him, hiking her skirt around her knees. And here is where the other children fall back to watch, all of them laughing. It's a sight, even for this room, and Jane seems determined to bring the little hellion to justice. He can fly though, so it almost looks as though he lets her catch him, swooping low over the others the way he does.

Jane seizes him around the waist and drags him back to floor level, snatching the bread out of his hand. She tosses it onto a napkin and I briefly wonder weather she'll finish it, before it's snatched up by Mowgli. Jane doesn't care.

"You little demon!" Pan squirms, but she keeps him firmly under her arm, tickling his side. "You little pest! Haven't you any manners at all!"

She sits back in a chair and he rests on her lap, giving a smile that shows off all his baby teeth. He tries to look condescending at first, but it turns out that he is extraordinarily ticklish. He keeps laughing and she keeps scolding, until it's unsure what she's scolding him about. The truth is that she has a way with him and he can't be bothered to fly away from such attention.

"You mustn't think of doing it again," Jane continues. "With your friend coming all this way to see you."

"Friend!" He perks up and looks around the room. "Where are they?"

"You're friend Wendy. And she's just on her way. You'll like that won't you Peter?"

Suddenly, Aurora leans over to me. "Why haven't we heard any of this?" she whispers. I shrug.

"Maybe she's just arrived." It's not so unusual after all: people dropping in and going away. One gets used to it.

"Oh, Wendy!"

And now we see her. Skipping in through the front doors. Her eyes widen when she sees the hall. Not unexpected. But she does this exaggeratedly, almost like a pantomime.

"Oh, Peter!"

She makes only the slightest skip in his direction, before he's caught her by the wrist and swooped her toward the ceiling. Luckily, the high ceiling is full of cross beams, about the thickness of small logs and she catches her stomach on one. Peter has kept flying, but he soon doubles back to help her up. It seems an awfully dangerous place to stand, but I can't say that most of us wouldn't join them given the chance. Wendy looks down at what must seem like a hundred upturned flesh-coloured disks.

"Hello, down there!" she calls waving, and loses balance. But the air catches her and she floats on it, arms out spread.

"Hang on," I say, suddenly reminded. "That shouldn't work. Where's the fairy?"

Now it is Aurora's turn to shrug. "It doesn't matter, Belle," she mutters, sighing. Her chin is in her elbow and her gaze is trained dreamily on the two children.

"It does though."

Aurora sighs heavily. She isn't offended by this. Just distracted.

Most of the others go back to their food, chatting and smiling indulgently. But the two of us keep watching, so we're the ones who see Wendy and Peter alight on a windowsill. They recommence the game from before, but on the floor, so they draw less attention. Mowgli is the only one to join them, crawling under chairs and whispering inaudible things to the other two. There is even a moment of quiet, before Peter sneaks up on Alice and pulls her hair.

"Ow!"

Pan falls back on himself, laughing noisily, while Alice rubs the back of her head. Cinderella and Snow, whom Alice was sitting between, shoo him away angrily. Wendy stalks towards the table.

"Peter!" She is shocked. Outraged even. "That was mean! Don't do that!"

Pan's laughter dies and he floats down to face her, with a contrite expression.

"I'm sorry, Wendy," he pleads with her. "I'm terribly sorry." Now he's looking at Alice. "I am terribly sorry!"

"Don't do that again."

"I won't! I won't ever!"

His eyes are wide and innocent as he says this, and it becomes obvious that he really genuinely means it. But we all know that he'll forget again.

An announcement from the Mufasa. The school is being momentarily watched. Regular activities will be suspended for a day. Do no magic.


	4. Chapter 4

"I couldn't very well let him get away with it, could I? Oh, it would break. Pass me another pencil, if you don't mind."

"You can have all of them."

I'm perched next to a table in the art room that's in the activity building. Funny, I think, that no one comes here. It's just the sort of place I like best about the school. Tall curtained windows, little round desks, and splashes of colour and pattern everywhere. Like an extra library, but for paint.

Jane sits across from me, fixing the smudge from her broken pencil, and so far, I think she is the only other person who has taken to spending much time here.

"I hope you'll show me when you're finished."

She looks embarassed, but I can tell that she's pleased.

"You can see it now." She offers me the page. "It's quite rough still."

On the paper is a perfect to scale drawing of Pan and Wendy in the dining hall rafters. I can't suppress a smile as I hand it back to her.

"It's good," I say. "It really looks like them. She had exactly that expression this afternoon."

"He was more difficult to draw," she mused. "Always moving."

My own sketchbook lies abandoned on the table. I could say that I have nothing to add to it or that I couldn't think of any ideas. But the truth is I haven't the patience for it. Not right now, with Jane filling her third sketchbook and not with Sir Thomas Malory lying open on my lap. But, of course, I've already read it, so there is no real excuse.

"It would look better with colour." Jane comments to herself as much as to me. "Perhaps I should make a new one with colour. If activities stay suspended I will."

Now, she folds over her page and makes a list of the colours she'll need to take back with her.

"I should draw a picture of you," she says. "And of your friend. I don't know his name, sorry."

I'm slightly impressed by the matter of fact way in which she says this. Or by her careful choice of the word 'friend', although she is clearly more focussed on her work than anything.

"Alright," I answer guardedly. "That's fine. There's nothing to stop you doing that."

"I just thought it natural to draw you together. I hope you don't mind."

"No." I don't look up from the page I'm reading. "No, I guess that makes sense."

I feel her eyes on me and meet them. She seems to be struggling with how to phrase what she has to say next.

"But he isn't -" She pauses. "Isn't he . . . not quite - human?" she asks eventually.

_You're one to talk._

I don't actually say this out loud, but something in my look must have conveyed it to her, because she laughs self-consciously. It is a reaction I can appreciate and, for a moment, I laugh with her. Then I turn back to the page and she finishes off her list, casting around for something else to draw. And I know she's already drawn the room.

"What next?" she asks casually. "What do you suggest?"

Maybe my mind is still outside the school, because I suggest Arthur meeting Guenevere. Fortunately, I see her warm to the idea. She flips to a clean sheet of paper. Then she reaches across the table.

"May I see?" I nod and pass her the book, marking the right page. She skims it, reading out a small section in her calm, accented voice. When she starts the picture, I can't keep from craning my neck to see it. And the end result is something astonishing. Very close to how I had imagined it, but also different in a number of ways. Guenevere's eyes are different. And Arthur is more English-looking. Possibly more accurate.

I am a little unsettled, but I am also suddenly overcome by curiosity. Eventually, I show her another section that I would like to see her interpretation of. We sit like that for two hours or more with the table between us and frost covering the windows. I continue to bounce ideas off of her and she continues to draw. Sketching intently and leaning close over her page.

Of all the girls I have met here, Jane is likely the one I've come to understand the most. She loves the image of things. Pictures and representations. Not the simplified images of what she thinks might have happened, but the way things actually feel at the moment they happen.

I only realize how long we've been here when I notice the light changing. Not long after, Jane puts down her sketchbook. We both agree that we've spent long enough at this table. I wonder vaguely whether Mufasa used magic to visit us.


	5. Chapter 5

By evening, it is quite chilly, even inside the living areas. The dark common room, with its dim lamplight and blazing fire, is a welcome retreat after a seemingly endless day. Jasmine is sitting on the carpet with Mulan. They have a chessboard balanced on two cushions between them. I sink into a nearby chair and notice that Jasmine, although she is right next to the fireplace, is wrapped up in a shawl and a quilt.

"Check." Mulan takes the white queen with her remaining bishop.

"No, you can't do tha- Never mind, you can."

Jasmine frowns and studies the board, knowing that she is about to lose again to the Chinese girl. She brightens, when she sees that the bishop has been left in a vulnerable position. She quickly takes is with her knight, giving a small cheer. A moment later I see that she's made a mistake, as Mulan capture the knight with a pawn.

"Check," she says again.

Meg wanders over to the chessboard. "It's a rational person's game," she mutters observing them. She leans against the mantlepiece with her arms folded. "Damn! Why is it so cold in this country?"

Jasmine meets her eyes intently. "I know!" She mouths the words, rather than speaking them.

Mulan lifts her hand off of the chessboard. "Does anyone know what country this is?"

Almost simultaneously, the rest of us shrugg.

"Odd." She slides the black queen through Jasmine's remaining pieces. "Checkmate."

Jasmine shruggs again. "We knew that was coming."

"You've gotten better," Mulan encourages. "You really have. Another game?" She raises her eyebrows inquiringly.

"No." Jasmine stands up, drawing the shawl closer around herself. "No, I'm finished. Belle will play with you."

I look up, unsure of when I volunteered for this task. Mulan smiles at me.

"You play chess?" she asks.

"A little." I answer noncommittally, taking Jasmine's spot on the carpet. "My father tried to teach it to me, but-" I stop, appreciating the detail and character of the chesspieces. "How old are these?"

"I don't know for sure. I found them in a closet on the stairwell. No one's missed them. You can start."

I hesitantly move a piece forward and we play. For a moment, I'm pleased with how much I remember, but then I see the patterns on Mulan's side forming. So much strategy. So many small reckless manoevers. And I am hesitant to let my own pieces be captured.

"How do you do it?" I muse. "It's like a battle."

"Exactly!" She meets my eyes. "It's exactly like a battle."

I begin to view the chessboard in a new light: as a real place, with real little people moving across it. After a moment, Mulan frowns, as though worried she's done something clumsy. I search the board, but she only lifts her hand from the piece and adds, "Only different."

I remember why chess isn't my strong suit when I start to panic at the plight of the pieces. I don't expect to win against someone so experienced. Even so, I enjoy the thought involved. I get excited when I feel I can do something to even the odds. I find a chance to take Mulan's second rook not long after the first and I must be taking a very long time, because eventually Mulan says, "No, that's right. That's a good move."

I relax, removing my hand from the piece.

It's a short game. Ending in the way I expected it too. My side gradually turns into a neat row of captured pieces, while I struggle to protect my useless and incapacitated king. Sometimes Meg catches me in a tight spot and says something.

Then Ariel sits down on my right, near the fire. She leans her head to one side and picks up one of the discarded pieces.

"What is that?"

I'm stunned. "You mean you've never heard of chess."

"Chess." The way she says the word proves that she hasn't. "No. What is it?"

"A game. We're almost finished here. We'll show you."

But she is too wrapped up in the pieces to notice how the game is played. She picks up one of the knights and balances it on her palm.

"It's a horse!" she says delightedly. "But with no legs."

"A knight," Mulan chimes in. "They represent other things." And before I know what's happened. "Checkmate."

Sure enough, I've lost the game no matter what move I next make. Rather than go gracefully, I trounce out one more of her pieces with my queen before admitting defeat. Mulan packs up the board and Ariel reluctantly turns her attention away from the pieces. We sit there, in the warmest corner of the room, until it gets crowded. Ariel has gotten very quiet. I wonder what's wrong, when I notice that she's watching the fire. Fascinated.


End file.
